Rain hit the glass like a war drum. Arcadia's skyline blurred behind sheets of water, glowing towers streaked in gold and crimson, their reflections bleeding down into the bay. Inside a penthouse far above the chaos of the streets, Nightblade stood shirtless, muscles tense, his gloved hand gripping the balcony railing as thunder rolled in the distance.
He hadn't slept. Couldn't. Not after what happened on the rooftop with Starflare. Their connection had crossed a line, and now, he couldn't unfeel the imprint of her lips, her voice in the dark, the way her body had clung to his like they were meant to fit.
But that wasn't what haunted him.
No, it was the silence afterward. She'd vanished before dawn, leaving only the imprint of heat in the sheets and a faint trace of her scent on his skin.
He stared out over the city like it owed him answers. In his mind, he replayed every second of their encounter, the passion, the surrender, the moment when they'd become something more than rivals, more than masks. It had felt like truth.
Then, the door opened behind him.
He didn't need to turn to know it was her. He felt it, the familiar pulse of heat in the air, the prickle of her energy across his skin like a second heartbeat.
"I didn't come to apologize," Starflare said.
"I didn't ask you to."
She stepped forward slowly. She had changed into civilian clothes, tight black jeans and a red leather jacket still damp from the rain. Her copper hair was tied back, her face bare of makeup, and yet somehow she looked even more dangerous.
"I came because I had to know," she said, voice low. "Was that just adrenaline, or was it something else?"
He finally turned. "It didn't feel like just adrenaline to me."
They stood in silence, the rain drumming between them.
"I don't do attachments," she said. "Not with people I might have to fight tomorrow."
"Neither do I," he replied. "But we crossed that line already. Ignoring it won't undo it."
She walked past him, standing at the balcony's edge. "I always wondered what your world looked like from up here. It's quieter than I expected."
"Quiet doesn't mean safe."
She gave him a sidelong look. "Nothing ever is."
A long silence passed, and when she finally spoke again, her voice was softer.
"I used to think being a hero meant always being in control. Above temptation. Untouchable."
"And now?"
"Now I know we're human," she whispered. "And I hate how much I like that."
He stepped closer. She didn't move away.
"Tell me why you really came," he said.
She turned to face him, and this time her defenses were stripped bare. "Because I haven't stopped thinking about you. About how it felt. About what it means if I let myself want you again."
His hand found hers. "Then stop thinking."
Their lips met, this time slower, less violent. Not need, but longing. She leaned into him, her hands slipping up around his neck as he pulled her close. This wasn't a collision. It was a decision. A surrender with open eyes.
She let out a breath against his lips. "We're going to regret this."
"Probably."
They didn't stop.
Later, wrapped in the warmth of each other and the dim light from the city outside, they lay in silence. Nightblade traced the line of a scar on her side with the back of his knuckle.
"Where'd you get this one?"
"Back when I tried to solo a mission in Jakarta. I was cocky. Thought I was invincible. Took a plasma shard to the ribs. They told me it nearly melted through an artery."
"And yet you still went back out the next week."
"Because I had to," she said. "You don't stop being a symbol just because your body breaks."
"That's the problem with symbols," he muttered. "They're easier to worship than to fix."
She looked at him, something unreadable in her gaze. "You think I'm broken?"
"I think you're one of the only people who understands what it's like to keep bleeding for a city that forgets you the second the lights go out."
Silence settled between them again, but it wasn't heavy. It was honest.
"You ever wonder who we'd be if we weren't heroes?" she asked quietly.
"I think we'd still find each other," he replied. "Just without all the bruises."
She smiled. "I like the bruises."
The next day, the city burned.
It started with a flicker. A block of downtown shorted out blackout in Sector 7. A pulse of flame erupted from a warehouse along the bay, and screams followed. The sky turned crimson, not from sunset, but smoke.
Nightblade stood atop the old clock tower, communicator pressed to his ear. "What do you mean it wasn't an accident?"
Starflare's voice crackled through. "It was targeted. Controlled demolition. Someone wanted this chaos."
"Casualties?"
"Too many. And there's a new player."
He clenched his jaw. "Who?"
"I don't know yet, but I felt something in that fire. Like it was alive. It didn't just spread, it hunted."
"Meet me at the Watchtower," he said. "We need to regroup."
But Starflare didn't reply.
"Starflare?"
Silence.
"Dammit."
He leapt from the tower, cloak billowing behind him, and vanished into the night.
Meanwhile, across the city, flames danced higher than the rooftops, and from within the inferno, a figure emerged, tall, armored in molten metal, eyes glowing like embers.
The fire parted around him like a curtain.
They called him Embershade.
The newest villain to rise from Arcadia's ashes.
And he had one goal:
To make the city burn, and its heroes fall with it.